


Snow on a Branch

by apartment



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Making Up, Post-Canon Fix-It, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:21:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22839985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apartment/pseuds/apartment
Summary: The Universe had to be conspiring against him, because they were stuck in this room, there was one bed, and the heater was broken.or: there's only one bed + feelingsEddie looked at the clerk, and Richie looked at him looking at her and wondered if he’d heard correctly. Eddie held up the key cards. “This room we’re getting is a single? As in only has one bed?”She nodded genially.“I have to share with this fucker?” Richie asked.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 18
Kudos: 330





	Snow on a Branch

When Richie had decided to visit Eddie upstate for a weekend, he hadn’t expected to end up huddled together in the lobby of a two-star hotel, waiting tiredly for their keys. But Eddie had been staying at a friend’s during the divorce proceedings, then traveling for a while, and didn’t have a place of his own. Not that that would have helped, since they were marooned on the far side of the city, the slick roads icing from the wind. 

“I’m fucking freezing,” Richie grumbled, trying to tuck his hands more fiercely into his pockets. Eddie was dressed in a proper down coat and scarf, like the Manhattan prick he was now, so he wasn’t shivering at all. Fuck him, but Eddie looked good. 

“Stop complaining, you baby. She’ll be back with our key in a second.” Eddie fiddled with his phone, swiping aimlessly through his two screens of apps, before turning it off with a sigh. “My phone’s gonna fuckin’ die. This is a mess. And now we’re staying at this rundown place. It’s probably disgusting in the room.” 

Richie grinned. Eddie served himself up on a silver fucking platter sometimes. “You know, if you hold a black light up in a—”

“Stop,” Eddie pushed him. “You’re so fucking gross. You’re gonna be sleeping in that too, idiot.” 

“You’re the idiot,” Richie huffed. He would have said more, when he’d thought of something to say, but he was a little drunk from the bar they’d been at, and the clerk took that moment to reappear from the back anyway. 

She handed two key cards to Eddie. “Sorry it took so long. I had to check with my supervisor. We only have singles left.” 

Eddie looked at the clerk, and Richie looked at him looking at her and wondered if he’d heard correctly. Eddie held up the key cards. “This room we’re getting is a single? As in only has one bed?” 

She nodded genially. 

“I have to share with this fucker?” Richie asked. 

But that was that. Richie followed Eddie to the elevator and stood in a daze beside him as they watched the floors pass by. They were high up, top floor. At least the view would be nice.

In the room, Eddie pulled off his scarf and dropped it on the left side of the bed, claiming it right off the bat before ambling into the bathroom. Richie stared vacantly at the single bed. It looked unassuming and harmless, but Richie knew the truth: he was fucked. 

Whatever, he’d get through this. He’d gotten through ten years in school with the Losers and twenty something years after that out on his own. He’d been in worse situations and could joke his way through anything. 

Richie heard the toilet flush and sink turn on, and decided to make himself look busy by opening the curtains and gazing outside. “It’s really coming down on there,” he said. The weather was a safe topic, one that wouldn’t give away to Eddie how scrambled Richie was feeling on the inside. 

Eddie joined him at the window, close enough that he was basically peering over Richie’s shoulder. Richie’s heart galloped, but he pulled its reins. “Damn,” Eddie said. “Gonna be a big storm, huh? Hopefully we can catch a ride back to my place tomorrow.” 

“Your place is a hotel,” Richie said, because it needed saying. 

Eddie shrugged. “Better than this shithole.” Well, that was fair. 

Eddie turned back to the bed, lifting up the duvet cover and staring at the white sheet underneath. His mouth twisted downward, a familiar expression of half-disdain, half-apprehension. Maybe Richie was feeling extra charitable, or maybe it was just the alcohol and this whole night speaking, but he said, “It’s just one night, Eddie. We’ll get back to your five-star suite tomorrow and you can take a long hot shower and scrub your skin off, alright?” 

“Whatever, dude,” Eddie huffed. “I’m not that bad anymore.” But he tellingly kept his jacket on, protected by the extra layers, and sat on top of the duvet instead of under it. He leaned against the headboard, and Richie had to turn away, because he just looked like _that,_ and it was too much. 

Richie quietly toed off his shoes and pulled his phone and wallet out of his pocket, resting them on the nightstand. He wanted to dilly dally on his phone, but Eddie would get on his case if he used too much battery, so he just flicked through his wallet once or twice before heading to the bathroom. He took as long as he could justify in there, hoping Eddie wouldn’t notice. He let himself freak out for exactly two minutes while washing his hands, staring at his pale face in the mirror. It was okay: it was only Eddie. 

But this whole night, sitting with Eddie at dinner, watching Eddie point out his favorite sights as they went from the restaurant to the bar. There was this moment, at the bar, when their knees were resting against each other, sitting side by side. Eddie had turned to Richie, body open and inviting, and looked like he’d been about to say something. The casual back slaps had turned into lingering touches, so barely over the line of friendship that Richie was sure he was imagining it all. 

Were those signs? Should he have been reacting differently? Maybe if he’d flirted back more Eddie would have said something. Richie didn’t know what to do. He was probably reading it all wrong. He knew the exact brand of coy flirtation gay men usually relied on—bold but friendly, with just enough plausible deniability. But this was Eddie, and the only evidence he had that Eddie could maybe be pulling out those same cards was, well, so long ago it felt like a lifetime. 

This was definitely the scariest thing to ever happen to him, probably even scarier than Pennywise, except how Pennywise had been, y’know, terrifying, and Richie was more than a little in love with Eddie, which made his heart beat with something that was distinctly not fear. 

He didn’t know what made him reach out to Eddie in the first place and suggest this trip. He’d spent three weeks after their last encounter with Pennywise sitting by Eddie’s hospital bed, trying to muster the humor for anything even remotely funny. But he couldn’t stop looking over his shoulder, expecting blood or those fucking rabid teeth. He couldn’t stop seeing Eddie stabbed and gutted, bleeding out. 

When Eddie recovered enough to start holding a conversation, Richie had stopped visiting as much, and then he’d made up some excuse about work and gone two states over, back home. It wasn’t home anymore, or maybe it never had been. He’d run, but he thought of Eddie watching him leave from his crisp, stark hospital bed every day since. 

So maybe that was why: guilt, and some harboring of resentment. But there was more buried deeper, rooted now in his chest and pushing its way to the surface. A sprout of hope waiting to bloom, all tangled around the way they’d looked at each other in the hospital, and then tonight. 

“Richie, you done in there?” Eddie called. “Hurry up, I wanna turn off the light.” 

Richie turned off the tap and wiped his hands on his jeans. He took a steadying breath, then another, and then opened the door. He had the barest moment to look at Eddie, sitting on the single bed of their hotel room, and then the lights flickered, and turned off. 

“What the fuck,” Richie said, at the same time Eddie called, “Richie?” 

Instinctive panic spread through Richie, tension in the balls of his feet and palms. He stumbled forward, holding his hands in front of him to feel for the bed. It wasn’t Pennywise. It was over, and it wasn’t Pennywise. “Eddie, it’s okay, I think the power just went off.” 

“Fuck,” Eddie said. His voice was tremulous. “I can’t see shit.” 

“I’m here,” Richie said. “It’s okay.” 

“Yeah, we’re good. We’re good,” said Eddie, and slowly the panic abated. They were fine. It had just been surprising is all. 

Richie found himself halfway across the room, his eyes adjusting to the dark, and Eddie somewhere in front of him, on the bed still, probably. “Can’t scare me so easily,” he joked, and Eddie gave him a small laugh. “You still on the bed?” 

“Yeah, man,” said Eddie. “But the heater’s off now, isn’t it? With the power.” 

Richie paused, and sure enough, the low hum of the radiator was missing. Fuck. The temperature would drop quickly now, especially with the giant windows places like these always seemed to have. “Okay, let’s just get in bed, dude. They’ve got a pretty thick comforter here.” He inched forward until his knees hit the edge of the bed, then tried to pull open the sheets, tugging on the duvet. But Eddie was sitting on it, unmoving. “What are you doing, Eddie? It’s gonna get cold soon.” 

“It’s fucking gross under there. I saw hairs, Richie. _Hairs_.” 

“You think sitting on top of the sheets is any better? Don’t be stupid.” 

“Better than being all, ugh, wrapped up in it.” Eddie made a sound of thick disgust. 

“C’mon man,” Richie said. This was ridiculous. “Get into the damn bed. We gotta stay warm.” 

Eddie made a noise of dissent. “I wasn’t planning on getting under the sheets. The only way I’m going to stay warm is if I use you as a blanket.” 

Richie’s breath caught in his throat, his heart lodged there too. There was no way Eddie wasn’t doing it on purpose. They’d grown up mastering the art of the innuendo; he had to know. “Yeah?” Richie said, emboldened. “You asked for it.” 

He took his glasses off, tossing them onto the nightstand, then kneeled on the bed and shuffled over to the shadowed figure of Eddie. Without a word, Richie carelessly plopped down on top of him. 

Eddie wrestled him off immediately. “Richie, what the fuck! Get off me, you prick.” But by then Richie was laughing and giving as good as he got, jostling with Eddie until they were both situated, diagonally on the bed, but laying down near each other. 

“We can beat the cold like this. You’re a twig, you’ll freeze without me,” said Richie. His heart was beating fast. He hoped Eddie wouldn’t kick him out. All he could hear was Eddie’s breathing, slowing down now as they both relaxed. 

“You just have too much fat,” Eddie said. God, Richie adored him. He didn’t know what to do with himself. Except this, he guessed. 

He turned toward Eddie, and inch by inch, feeling his blood thundering through his body, tasting his heart at the roof of his mouth, Richie slid an arm around him. After a moment, the longest moment of Richie’s life, Eddie’s hand crept around his side, coming to a rest on his back. The two of them, on their sides, in an embrace. 

Maybe if the power hadn’t gone out, Richie wouldn’t have been able to face Eddie like this. But in the dark it was okay, where he didn’t have to make eye contact or worry about how red he was probably getting. They were close enough that Eddie could probably feel Richie’s heart thumping. But Richie forced himself to relax. 

In the silence and dark, without even the hum of the heater, it was surprisingly easy to do. Richie was done being scared of things, done being terrified. He’d lived through too much, forced himself into sewers and caves and murky water and monsters. What was the point of being nervous? His hope was volcanic; there was no turning back now, and he didn’t want to. 

He lost track of time, just laying there. They shifted once or twice, getting closer each time, until Eddie was tucked against Richie’s body, his head under Richie’s chin, and both of Richie’s arms around him. 

Richie knew they needed to talk about this, but he just didn’t know how. He thought about the ways to bring it up, but each was too fraught with the memory of what had happened before: then. He didn’t know if Eddie would ever want to talk about it. 

“Hey, Richie,” Eddie said. Richie could feel his breath against the skin of his neck and tried to quell the shiver that rose. “Do you ever think about… that time?” 

Richie’s breath caught. He knew exactly what Eddie was referring to and tasted metal at the memory: regret, hope, the melancholy of something lost. He was caught out, but it struck him that Eddie had been thinking about the same thing he was. 

Richie mustered himself. “You mean…? Y’know, when we were young?” he asked, just to be sure. Maybe he was making it all up. Every touch, every glance in his direction hyperbolized by his overinflated heart. 

But Eddie said, “Yeah,” quietly, followed by a quick exhale, like he’d been holding his breath. Richie felt each finger of Eddie’s hand, resting on his back, like a distinct hot poker, even through his clothes. He couldn’t get enough air, and wished that his glasses weren’t sitting on the nightstand, or that it wasn’t so dark. He didn’t know what face Eddie was making. Was it good or bad? 

“Yeah, man,” Richie said. “Fuck, I mean, you know I do.” 

“No, I _don’t_ ,” Eddie said immediately, louder. His voice broke through the silence. He pulled away from Richie, leaving him cold and out of sorts, and propped himself up on an elbow. “Fuck you, how am I supposed to know that? Dude, you ignored me for a week and pretended like nothing happened when I tried to bring it up? You left me a note in my locker that said _‘Thanks, bro! nice one._ ’ So when was I supposed to figure out that you still think about it? Huh, asshole?” 

Richie shrank back, then sat up on the bed to give himself some time. His insides felt like the melted goop of shame he actually was as a person. “Okay. Okay, Eddie, I—. Yeah, man, fuck. Like, I did those things. I did that, and I was scared, and we were like thirteen, dude. I didn’t know, okay— I didn’t know what to do.” 

“Anything would have been better. You think I was okay after that? You were my first _anything_. I know you’d messed around with that girl, that one with the backpack you’d always fuck around with, and then you wanted me, and I thought—.” He broke off. Richie still couldn’t make out his expression, but Eddie turned away with a sigh. “That’s been building for a while, I guess. I just— I don’t know what I thought.” 

Richie sat there for a quiet moment, wishing for even the background drone of a radiator. He could nearly hear the dust floating around them, it was so silent. He wondered if Eddie was even breathing. Richie felt all the stupid, rotten things he’d done in his life swell up to the surface. Eddie was at the top of that list: his regrets, and the reasons he felt it should have been him getting stabbed through by Pennywise that night. He’d run his insecurities ragged and had no more defenses against even himself. Here they were, laid bare. 

“I do,” he said. “I know what you thought because I did, too. I had this fantasy. Like, you’d want me back, and we’d say ‘Fuck the world!’ and just, be together. Whatever that meant when we were that young. I used to think about it at night. Like, _ha_ , not even jacking off or anything. Just laying there thinking about it. But y’know. It was Derry. And you had your mom. And then Pennywise happened, and well, how could we go back after all that?” 

The last of his words lingered in the air, as if floating on their tension. And as quickly as their tempers had risen, Richie felt Eddie soften next to him, like a balloon losing its air of righteous fury. 

Richie didn’t quite startle when he felt a hand on him, but it was a close thing. Eddie closed the gap between them, curling a hand around Richie’s upper arm and scooting closer. Their knees touched, sitting cross-legged in front of each other. Richie felt him like a magnet, drawing him inexorably closer. He was in Eddie’s orbit, and always had been, even when he’d been a fuckfaced dickhead of a kid. 

“I wanted to go back,” Eddie confessed. “After that summer, everything was so fucked up. I’d have done anything to go back to before. When I was in that hospital bed, you were there every day. There were so many times I wanted to ask you why.” 

“Even though I’d fucked it all up?” Richie asked wrly. Stupidly, he felt his eyes prickle, and blinked rapidly to stave off his tears. He wasn’t the one who should be crying. “I ran away from you. From everything. I was a coward.” 

“You protected us,” Eddie said. “You know as well as I do how we would have been treated if we’d been together, if there were even just rumors. And now, well. You’re the one who texted me, asking to come up here.” 

Richie shook his head. “Don’t give me that much credit. I was protecting myself then, and now, just making amends, or something.” 

“Amends for what?” Eddie asked, exasperated. “You were a dickwad the entire time, cracking stupid jokes when I couldn’t laugh, but you visited even after everyone had to go back to their normal lives. You stayed.” 

“I still left eventually,” Richie said. Then: “You thought those jokes were funny? Fucker, I thought you weren’t laughing ‘cause they were lame.” 

In the dark, Richie saw Eddie’s frame loosen and relax. They were back on solid ground. “Richie Tozier?” he teased, grinning. “Admitting his jokes are dog shit? Someone better get their camera.” 

“Fuck off,” Richie said. He couldn’t help his smile. “You always had the worst comebacks. Can’t believe no one ever bullied you for it.” 

“You would have fought anyone who talked shit about me,” Eddie laughed. 

Richie couldn’t help himself: “No one could say shit to you except me,” he said. Then, because it was true, and it seemed like that type of night: “You were my favorite, y’know.” 

“You sure had a funny way of showing it,” Eddie scoffed. But his voice was light. He knew Richie was telling the truth. 

Richie moved closer to jostle him with a nudge, then stayed pressed against the warm lines of Eddie’s body, side by side. He could feel the strength of Eddie’s upper body, so far from the scrawny kid who used to cry at the sight of sweat. 

He’d used to fuck with Eddie because it got a rise out of him. All of Eddie’s intense, often scattered energy, all focused on him for that split second. He used to jerk off to it, all of his filthy thoughts combined with Eddie’s dark eyes pinned on him. It felt weird now, almost embarrassing, thinking about the self-forays of his younger days. 

“I wanted you to notice me,” Richie said simply, instead of all that. The honesty felt raw and almost too truthful, but it was dark, and it was Eddie. 

Eddie turned to look at him. They were sitting so close that his nose brushed Richie’s cheek, and Richie bit back his gasp in time to hear Eddie’s own inhale. He was weightless, like running through the fields of tall grass the Losers used to come across and claim, sandals slapping against their heels, bikes abandoned by the far-off fence. Something was happening, careening towards them. A part of him had been waiting for this moment for thirty years. 

“I noticed,” Eddie said. Richie could feel his breath against his face. They were so close. The air between them was just particles. 

Richie leaned in and kissed him, and by some miracle, didn’t miss. Eddie’s lips were thin and soft, and after a moment, moved against his. Eddie pulled back the barest amount, then leaned again, fitting their lips together at a better angle. It was dry and soft and sweet in the thin winter air. Richie wanted to breathe Eddie in forever. 

“Eddie,” Richie said, kissing him again, more deeply. He was suddenly, terribly desperate. “Eddie, this can’t be a one-time thing. I can’t— not after all this time.” 

Eddie’s hand clasped the back of Richie’s neck, a solid presence. He leaned their foreheads together, and even in the dim filtered light from outside, Richie could see the glisten of Eddie’s eyes. “I’m taking this so seriously, Richie.” He laughed, wet against Richie’s mouth. “This time let me take the lead, and I’ll even leave you a note on the nightstand that says _‘Thanks bro!’_ ” 

Richie smacked him on the arm. “Fuck you, we’re joking about that already?” 

“I’ll joke about it forever,” Eddie crowed, triumphant. He laughed, but Richie was stuck on the ‘forever,’ and had to take a moment to have emotions. 

Eddie surged forward and kissed Richie again, deepening it this time. Richie held his shoulders, then wrapped his arms around Eddie’s neck. He wanted to be closer. He wanted to feel Eddie against him. “I want you,” he panted, pulling back. Eddie was satisfyingly out of breath, and he made a soft sound when Richie nipped at his jaw, then a little lower. 

“I wish the lights were on,” Eddie said. “I want to see you.” 

Richie flushed hot and could feel himself getting red. He was kinda glad the lights were off for this. It had been a while, and he was no fumbling virgin, but it felt like the first time. It felt like the only time ever and nothing had even happened yet. 

He leaned back slowly, pulling Eddie down on top of him as he lay on the bed. The mattress was springy and uncomfortable, but it would do its job. “I’m freezing,” he said. “You wanna warm me up?” 

Eddie laughed, then bent to shove his face in the crook of Richie’s neck. “You’re trash at pick up lines,” he said. He sucked a low bruise above Richie’s collarbone while Richie dissolved into the bedspread. 

“Your mom never complained,” he managed, but it was weak, and Eddie didn’t even bother getting mad. He could do anything he wanted to Richie now, and he knew it. 

“See who gets laid when they’re saying stuff like that,” Eddie said. 

Richie said, “Hopefully me,” then shut up while Eddie slid his fingers—cold, making him jump—up beneath Richie’s shirt. “Jesus, your hands are fucking cold.” 

They made out for a while, with Eddie just laying half on top of Richie and Richie gamely suffering the freezing icicles that were Eddie’s fingers. It was nice, like Richie was enveloped in a full-body hug. But eventually, the flickers of heat building fought for attention, and Richie couldn’t help the small movements of his hips. “Eddie,” he said. “C’mon.” He was hard in his jeans and at least needed to unbutton. 

Eddie looked around them disdainfully. “I don’t wanna get naked in here. God, it’s probably so gross, and you were saying that thing earlier about black light.” 

“Ignore me!” Richie pleaded. “No one should listen to a thing I say ever!” He was dying here; couldn’t Eddie have some mercy? “Fuck, come on, I gotta get my dick outta these pants.” 

“You’re gonna pick something up from these sheets, and then you're gonna come crying to me about it but I won’t be able to touch your dick. See what happens then,” Eddie said. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Richie groaned. “You’re killing my boner.”

“Just—,” Eddie kneeled up and reached for Richie’s waistband. Richie’s breath caught, and he felt more than watched through the darkness as Eddie unbuttoned his jeans, stroking over the tent of his boxers. “Isn’t this good enough?” 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Richie agreed. Anything was good. Nothing at all would be good enough. He was ascending to another plane of existence. “Yeah,” he nodded, bucking his hips to try and get a little more. “Come back down here, Ed, get on top of me.” 

They rubbed off against each other, humping like teenagers with their clothes on. Richie hadn’t come in his boxers in ages, and it felt strange but also somewhat illicit, their own special thing. Eddie grunted softly as he grinded his cock in the soft flesh near Richie’s hip, aligned perfectly next to his own. 

Richie could feel himself getting pink and flushed, probably splotchy. His scruff scratched along the smooth skin of Eddie’s neck, surely leaving its own mark, and he ran hot at the thought of Eddie’s skin all reddened. It felt so fucking good, it was almost unreal that this was happening. Richie wasn’t convinced he wasn’t dreaming. 

“This better not be a dream,” he said, panting against Eddie’s mouth. He licked over Eddie’s bottom lip and bit down gently. “You’re real.” He didn’t really mean much by it, but Eddie paused for a second, leaving Richie dazed. 

“Richie, look at me,” Eddie said, and Richie did. “It’s not a dream. I’m real. It’s not an illusion, or anything fucked up. It’s us.” 

Eddie said it so simply, and it was dark and cold outside, and Richie honestly had never expected this, only hoped, in a tiny hidden place he hated to acknowledge. But it was them. Richie watched Eddie watching him, with a focused intensity Eddie had never managed when they were younger, and found himself tearing up in an instinctual way. It was for the long haul, then. “It’s us,” Richie repeated back, then kissed Eddie again, then again. 

They came like that, rutting against each other, Eddie first with a low moan that short-circuited Richie’s brain and sent him over the edge. His boxers were wet and uncomfortable, but their bodies were wrapped up in each other, and his body melted into the mattress.

Eddie pillowed his head on Richie’s chest, and he was a solid weight that pressed all of Richie’s gooey feelings out of him. “I wish we’d done this a long time ago,” Richie said. 

“We’re doing it now,” Eddie replied. Then asked, “Right?” 

Richie slid his hands up and down Eddie’s arms, still covered in his fancy ass jacket. “Yeah. Yeah, Eddie, I guess we are.” 

They lapsed into a comfortable silence that took Richie to the edge of sleep, enough that he only barely heard Eddie say, “I wonder what everyone’s gonna say, when we tell them.” 

And that was another small thrill: the idea of telling everyone and getting to call Eddie his. Richie laughed, eyes still closed, rousing himself to unstick his mouth and say, “They’re gonna lose their fucking minds.” Then, they slept. 

The morning broke blue and misty. It had snowed more overnight, and they’d probably have to wait a bit for the roads to get cleared. Eddie and Richie weren’t plastered against each other anymore, but their legs were still tangled under the sheets. The power, and heat, had come back on at some point, and the air was dry and warm. 

Richie felt old. He’d hit thirty years, and the world was kinder than before in some ways and even worse in others. It would never be the perfect time or place. But it could be the perfect person. As Richie watched, Eddie rolled over towards him, and bit by bit, opened his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> tone? what's tone? 
> 
> you can follow me @serpendency on twitter & tumblr


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